


225 - Film Score Composer Reader & Summer Holiday

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “the reader is a film music composer & she meets the lids after her interview on BBC Radio 1, & she meets Van and he says he loves her work & they go out on a date to a film festival & a year later, they’re touring the world together? Making sure that when they are touring, they go to the same countries?” and “a vacation with van to some island? and like spending the day by the pool(in the shade of course cause that baby would burn bless his irish skin) and the beach and coconut drinks and dancing to music and all those beautiful things??”Bonus mini-request of something involving a lifeguard getting a little annoyed at Van running amuck.





	225 - Film Score Composer Reader & Summer Holiday

It was instant. You'd glanced up as the elevator doors closed, catching his eyes for only a second. Your body moved forward towards him, but the thick steel was already between you and you were being dragged back down to Earth. Cue sad song; cue Everybody Hurts and Mad World and I Will Follow You Into The Dark and Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) and Sampson.

"You okay?" your agent asked. "Look like you're gonna puke or something?"

"I'm fine," you said, taking a step back. I'm just living the start of a bad romance film, that's all. 

Out of the elevator and the doors of the BBC building, you were about to get into a cab. The interview had gone well; the last press you had to do for the film before a short break.

"Wait!" a voice called desperately over a sea of people on the sidewalk.

There he was, weaving through the crowd on his way to you. Cue happy song; cue I Feel Good and Call Me Maybe and I Believe In A Thing Called Love and Hey Ya! and Home.

Standing in front of each other, neither of you knew what to say. He grinned and you just looked at him starry-eyed and completely found. You swapped names and realised his band was familiar to you like your film scores were to him. "You're like, a proper musician!" he joked. As your agent impatiently waited in the taxi and the indicator of the car loudly ticked away the seconds, you listened to him list the films you'd provided soundtrack to. "My favourites, you know? Always meant to Google you. Never get around to things like that though," he said with another lopsided smile. You told him the same, that despite his second album being on your iPod, you'd never looked them up or downloaded the first.

That night you'd both hunch over your laptops in your respective hotel rooms, drinking in any and all information about each other you could find. There was much more about him though. His life story. His exact whereabouts at any given moment. Everything. It seemed the entire world was as in love with Van McCann as you were about to be.

…

Through the darkness of the cinema, you watched Van's eyes flick from subtitles to action and back again. His eyebrows were pulled together and it made his brow line stick out all funny, like a grumpy kid's face. It was beautiful but you could see he wasn't loving the film. He felt you watching him and looked over.

"What?" he asked. You smirked and shook your head. "Why you lookin' at me like that?"

"Like what?"

He didn't reply, just tilted his head, clearly not concerned about missing dialogue.

"French films aren't your thing?"

"Haven't seen 'em all, have I?" he replied.

Someone shushed you both and you looked over with a glare.

"Come on," you ordered and stood up. Assuming he was following, you quickly escaped through the back exit. Out in the hallway that connected all the theatre rooms, you were alone with him.

"What are we doing?" he asked, amused at the sneaky tiptoe movement you'd adopted. You put your finger to your lips and he nodded, following you into a different room. You peeked at the screen - minions. Many ugly, yellow minions. Backing out quickly, you checked a second theatre - something about war. No deal. 

"Third time lucky," you said as you joined a group of people walking into theatre seven. Something was starting. Atomic Blonde, and it was the right choice for both of you. 

Van held all questions until the end, until after you'd walked past the boy that had collected your tickets for an entirely different film earlier in the evening. He looked at you both with an expression of puzzlement but didn't have the guts to say anything. Thank God the cinema hired teenagers.

"Did ya not like the French one?" Van asked, swooping to wrap his arm around your shoulders. You folded an arm up to be able to lace your fingers through his.

"You didn't,"

"So? I'm an adult. Can handle sittin' through stuff like that, you know?"

"Yeah, but…" You shrugged and looked at him. "Don't want to force you to do stuff you don't like if there are other options we both like. Besides, you already got the points for looking up film festivals, you know? The fact that you thought about it at all is cute,"

"Cute?" he repeated with high pitched offended inflection.

"Ah-huh," you confirmed, skipping ahead of him and walking backwards. "That's kinda your thing… cute,"

"No! Puppies and babies are cute. I'm…" he started. You smirked when he faulted.

"You're what, Van?"

His cheeks went a little red and he held a hand out to you. You stopped moving and let him walk into you. Both hands in his, he looked at you and shrugged.

"I dunno,"

"See? Cute. But that's good 'cause I like cute," you told him. First date flirting was your favourite.

"Well then, call me dead fuckin' cute, love."

…

After the 'I have to take her to film festivals and gigs and cultured events' panic in Van wore off, dates became low-key and based around comfort, each other, and your houses. And as soon as he learnt you had a studio at your place, it became his second home, after the road. Almost all the time you spent with each other was in that room. He'd sit next to you and play with all the machines and watch you work. "Proper musician," he continually whispered under his breath.

"Don't see how it's much different to what you do," you said one day. "I give music to the lives of on screen characters. You give music to the lives of real life people. You know what I mean?"

Van snorted and shook his head. "I write simple stories and simple guitar riffs, love. You literally think up twenty different instruments at once. Like, in your head you can hear all of them and how they should sound and can write that out in proper music and then make it happen. You can turn normal sounds into music and you even know how to make people cry with the right notes and stuff. You're like… magic."

You watched him as he spoke, in love and in awe. Van was validation and appreciation and you wanted to give him the world in return. The best you could do was help him make stupid one minute movies about Larry and Little Mary and anyone unlucky enough to walk past his house or car. He'd bring edited footage and you'd spread on the floor of your studio with glasses of wine and make melodramatic music together.

There were twenty-six collaborative projects by the time you'd been dating for a year and a bit. The only time people got to see them was if they were the star. Bondy loved them, so he was in about twelve. Larry saw the most. Generally though, they were creative little things meant for you and Van.

The day before Van left for another tour, you finished up one about the bird that had nested in your backyard and the little chicks that you and Van had watched grow up. That evening, they started to fly away and it felt a little poetic and very bittersweet.

Two months later, after going the longest you'd been apart in the year and a half you'd been dating, you were on the phone to Van. You'd never been homesick for a person before, never felt grief at the loss of contact, never mourned for occupied bed space. Cue Ain't No Sunshine.

"I've figured it out," Van said cheerily over the phone.

"Figured what out?"

"Us, missin' each other and stuff. Got it sorted, love."

Trust Van to think he could solve a problem so simply. What's the solution to war and global conflict, Van McCann? Oh, mate, we all just gotta settle and love each other, you know? If ya happy, that's all that matters. Van's idea made sense though. Synchronised touring. Of course, it wouldn’t always work, but if you were both conscious of where the other one would be and when, you could match up overseas trips as best you could. Van would comprise and do a few less shows, and you'd finally give in and use Skype to talk to directors and studios more.

…

Two years after meeting Van, you were both in Miami. Van was on tour and had a few strategically timetabled days off. You were in the planning stages for a film's score that would be set there and had an all expenses paid trip to feel the vibe and atmosphere. Instead of staying in the city for the whole time, you took the one hour flight over to the Bahamas. Neither of you had been and even though it was a short trip, you needed something separate to everything else you were both doing.

Van slept on the plane, head on your shoulder, a patch of drool darkening the material of your t-shirt. There wasn't even a second where you considered waking or moving him. His hair was tickling your face, finally growing out from his short haircut. He stumbled along behind you on the tarmac, still a little dazed.

"It's fuckin' hot," he said. He was in jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a jacket.

"Sometimes I think you don't know how weather works, babe."

In the private car to the hotel, you showed Van where he'd dribbled on you. He laughed and smiled. The car and the hotel were both air-conditioned, and Van's relief was entirely visible. He followed you as you bounced up to the reception desk and checked in.

"Only staying with us for the two nights?" the girl asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah. We work a lot, so we gotta fit little holidays in when we can," you explained.

In the elevator, Van looked at you with an expression you'd not seen before. "I liked that,"

"What?" you asked.

"Just hearing it out loud. 'Bout how we both work, so we have to do this." You considered it for a second, but couldn't figure out what you meant. You shook your head and followed him out of the open elevator doors and down the hallway as he continued to explain. "I like that we both have a thing, you know? I miss you when we ain't together, but it's good to know you got a job you like and are like, you know, doing stuff. Same as me. And if this works, the little holidays and sneaky visits, that means we can keep it up for a while yet,"

"Well, what's the alternative though?"

Your hotel room was amazing. The entire far wall was open French doors to a huge balcony that invited views of the ocean to your doorstep. The bed could have housed every member of Catfish and you, and it was covered with a royal canopy held up by four posts. A king sized spa was on a tiled podium in the same room as the bed, and you were all kinds of in love with that. It was lavish and calming and beautiful and you never wanted to leave. Cue Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

Van put the bags down and looked over at you.

"Exactly, there isn't an alternative. We'd never see each other unless I quit the band,"

"That's never happening,"

"I know. That's what I mean. It was just good to hear you say this is us, you know?" he finished.

You threw yourself back onto the bed and felt the cold conditioned air of the room be swirled around but the warm breeze coming in through the open doors. When you sat up, Van was sitting on the balcony with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Didn't take him long. You stood to join him but were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Room service!" a happy voice called. Van looked over and shrugged.

Behind the door was a boy with a tray of champagne and strawberries. "We didn't-" you went to explain.

"Complimentary," he said quickly.

He departed after leaving the tray on the table next to Van.

"What kind of hotel gives out free bottles of champagne? This is like, the good stuff," you said in awe as you held the bottle up to read the label. Van chuckled.

"The fancy kind. Probably got them fuzzy nightgowns like Scarface too, you know?"

…

After a bottle of champagne and too many cocktails, you chased Van down to the beach in the twilight of evening. When you had told him to pack shorts, you weren't expected what looked like his old jeans cut off just above the knee. He was making it work with his blue button up, rolled to his elbows. "Van!" you squealed, struggling to run over the warm sand.

"Come on! Keep up!"

"My legs don't work like yours! Please!"

He cackled from where he had hit wet sand, slowing to a casual walk into the water. You caught up to him, and he grabbed you by the waist as you jogged around him.

"Water's warm," you mumbled into his shirt as he held you.

Resting your chin on Van's shoulder, you could see the glimmering lights of the hotel and the fire pits all along the beach. People were happy in paradise, but you were sure you were the most blissful person on Earth. Van was rocking you gently, side to side to a melody only he could hear. Behind you, the waves were alive with sound and force. Around you, Van was nuzzling into your neck, placid in his drunkenness and calm in his love.

"Do you reckon it'll be like this forever?" he whispered, arms tightening around you. It couldn’t be Bahama breezes and umbrellaed drinks and sunscreen smells forever. More than it couldn't be that, you couldn't hurt Van with reality.

"Course it will."

Cue Crazy Love and Into My Arms and Wonderwall and You And Me Song and Stand By Me.

…

The next morning Van was up well before you; he always was. Despite the wide open doors and the salty air coming in, the room still smelt like sex. Clean sex, but the smut was there nonetheless. When you woke, you were lying tangled in crisp white sheets. Stretching out as hard as your spine would allow, you arched and twisted until you were all shook out. Looking around for Van, he was already watching you from his place on the balcony. He smiled.

"Don't," you said, your voice all broken with sleep.

"Don't what, love?" he asked, putting his cigarette out and walking to you. He was in underwear and nothing else.

"You were watchin' me sleep again,"

"You don't know that, 'cause you were asleep, you know? 'Sides. I wasn't. I only looked over when you made that sound,"

"What sound?" you asked, rolling onto your side when he crashed down onto the bed with you.

"The dead cute squeak you do when you stretch out like that. Like a cat. Maybe kitten, 'cause it's more squeaky than a proper cat."

You looked at him and shook your head. "God, you're weird sometimes,"

"Me? I am not the weird one," he replied, poking you in the ribs. You swatted his hand and wriggled backwards. "If I was weird I would not have already got you breakfast so you could stay in bed all day if you wanted to,"

"I feel like you can be weird and do that."

Van was unimpressed at your lack of apparent appreciation. He was only a thought away from pouncing onto you when there was a knock on the door followed by "Room service!" Van's face lit up with a proud smile.

Your breakfast bed picnic was fluffy pancakes and eight different types of fruit. There was fresh watermelon juice with mint, and quality tea too. Van ate a traditional cooked breakfast that seemed out of place in the tropical setting, but the boy loved a good sausage and hash brown. When the plates were clear, you thanked Van by letting him kiss your food baby.

A couple hours of rolling around in bed, lazy kisses and toothbrush fights later, Van was walking in your shadow through a rainforest. You stuck to the man-made boardwalks and collected fallen leaves as Van stopped every so often to stare at everything in awe.

"Look! Babe! Look at that lizard!"

"Mmmmm nice, but also please don't let it come near me," you replied, standing behind him.

"Don't think the lizard is gonna get ya. 'Sides all the animals here are good guys."

You laughed. "What do you mean? You had them all over for a smoke and tea?"

"No poisonous snakes on the island," he replied, like it justified the logic entirely.

"Um… So… because the snakes can't poison us, you've just decided every single animal here is friendly?"

He nodded, grinned, and continued up the trail. There would never, ever be words to explain how much you loved him.

"Did I tell you about the pigs?!" he yelled over his shoulder but didn't wait for a reply. "Somewhere near here, like, one of these islands, there's these wild pigs that just swim about in the ocean. How mad is that? What they even doin' in the ocean in the first place? Where do pigs even come from?"

…

That afternoon you discovered the pure joy of the swim up bar. As you sat on the stool, submerged in water, you couldn't contain the giggles. Van watched you, smirking. When the bartender returned, he eyed you off worried.

"She ain't that drunk, mate. Don't worry. You can give her another of those drinks in the coconut. She's just lovin' the bar in the swimming pool thing," Van explained to him.

"It's just… the greatest idea… But, oh my god, can I ask something?" you said to the bartender.

"Are you going to ask if people piss in the pool a lot?" You held back another wave of giggles as Van snorted. "Yeah… Look, we don't know. There's a lot of chemicals in that pool. It's probably not any worse than a regular pool."

Coconut held cocktails in front of you, the bartender left.

"Don't really make me wanna get out," Van said with a shrug.

"Yeah, me either. Just don't wanna get it in my mouth,"

"Yeah, babe, save your mouth for other things."

You could see he was proud of that one. You shook your head and pushed him off the stool and into the water. He surfaced with a laugh, kissed your thigh and launched himself up back onto this seat.

By the time you ventured into one of the other resort pools (it had what seemed like hundreds), you were both very drunk. Legs wrapped around Van's waist, he waded through the water with you while you mostly just kissed his neck. If either of you had any ability to read the social context, you would have seen how uncomfortable your public displays of affection were making people. Van would not have cared. The limited time you had together was precious and to be spent however the fuck you and he wanted.

So, the deep kisses and wandering hands continued, as social norms dictate it would be weird for anyone to actually say anything. What could be said though, was no running and cannonballing into the pool. You knew it would get him into trouble, so you dared him to do it. He knew it would get him into trouble, so of course he was going to do it.

You leant against the far pool side, bobbing and grinning and watching Van 'casually' get out of the pool. He looked around like a spy in a slapstick comedy from the 60s. He stalked behind people and got his running start. Immediately, the pool's lifeguard on duty yelled at him to stop. Nobody tells Van McCann what to do (except for maybe you and his parents). If anything, the yelling put an extra pep in his step. He jumped from the side of pool and expertly splashed onto the surface in a cannonball. You cheered and clapped, and when he popped out of the water, you swam to each other.

"Out! Get the fuck out! Are you serious, man?" the lifeguard yelled. His use of a cuss upset people more than Van's cannonball, but they were grateful the gross lovebirds were getting kicked out.

Wrapped in towels, you ran laughing through the resort and back to your room. Cue Troublemaker.

…

In own private pool, a.k.a. the excessively sized spa in your room, you and Van sobered up a little bit with more room service food and mocktails. From your room, you could watch the sun set over the ocean and the trees and the people on the beach.

"Van? I'm in love with here,"

"Yeah. I'll bring you back. Promise. Probably other places you'll love just as much though,"

"But this is always gonna be special now. Our first proper holiday."

Van smiled gently and reached out for you. You slid through the soapy water and sat with your back pressed to his chest. The jets in the spa were bubbling away, and while you played with them, Van massaged your neck and back and let his hands roam. You settled into him, letting him control where your limbs were held and how your body felt.

"You're the love of my life," he whispered as you zoned out into a shimmery pastel yellow dream. The sand and the sun and the sparkle in Van's eye as he watched you dance your way through jungles.

"Course I am, and you're mine."

After hours and hours of quiet words and soft touching, you climbed out of the spa and crawled into bed. The room was already dark, lit only by the moonlight. The sex that night was less about need and missing each other's bodies, and more about love. You could feel it as Van's hands slid down your back and across your hips. He could feel it in the tight grip you had on his hand. Love. Cue meaningful silence.

…

All packed up, you had half an hour before you needed to check out. On your last Bahaman beach walk, Van helped you find the most mermaid-esque shells to take home. As you walked along behind him you could see his pale Irish skin turning pink. It had only been a couple of days. When you'd gone quiet, Van turned around to check on you. In the reflection of his green mirrored glasses, you could see the sad expression on your own face.

"It's gonna be worse to be apart now," you said. Van nodded; he'd already come to the same conclusion.

"Yeah… But we're good," he replied, pulling you into a hug. His arms were around your neck and with your face buried in his chest, you wanted to cry. "We'll keep graftin' like we have been. Take over the world, then in a couple years we can take more holidays, think 'bout little beach babies 'n all that. We're good."

You nodded and followed him back to the resort where he checked out and thanked the girl at reception more than enough times. 

On the flight back to Miami, back to the real world and nights without Van at your side, you rested your head on his shoulder. "You can dribble on me if you want. Seems only fair," he whispered. You looked at him with a grin, kissed his jaw and closed your eyes, settling in. Cue Happy Together, but the Simple Plan cover, obviously.


End file.
